Author Archives: Fordiebianco

Dear Sony

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I know you are currently in terminal decline, and I will only hold you up for a minute. I used to be a proud owner of innumerable Sony Walkmen, Discmen, MD Players, Mobile Phones and even a PS3, and now I own one of your TVs, the magnificently named KDL-32cx523 (I am sure you’re paying the guy coming up with the names for your stuff loads of money). You know what, terminal decline yes or no, I really like it. It wasn’t particularly expensive, it’s not ugly, it has a beautiful picture, works really well with the internet and my home network and makes the best girlfriend happy because she can watch her favourite crime dramas on BBC in HD on it. So far, so good. There are just 2 little niggles.

a) do you really think I would spend eighty pounds for a Sony labelled USB web camera worth 2 pence so I can Skype in front of the TV?

b) your HD recording feature is magnificent, but have you ever thought about that no one in their right mind formats their hard disk in FAT32 anymore? If you insist that an external HD is to be formatted in ancient file format, then PLEASE, FOR PETE’S SAKE, TELL ME IN YOUR BLOODY MANUAL AND DON’T LET ME SCOUR THE INTERNET FOR HOURS!

Best wishes,

Fordiebianco

P.S. May your share price equal the Royal Bank of Scotland’s.

The BBS Documentary

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A long, long time ago, in a decade far away…

….I had a series of micro computers (ZX 81, Spectrum, QL, Amiga 500, Amiga 2000), and because of these, human interaction was at times less important for me than the other kids. But somehow you wanted to be in contact with other users, nerds, anorak and geeks, and so I had to buy one of those:

This is what us geeks call an ‘acoustic coupler’. This chunky device would convert the bits and bytes that you wanted to transfer over the phonelines into a very particular noise that would very soon became the acoustic promise of excitement, entertainment and the world of unlimited geekyness. What you would is dial the number of a ‘Bulletin Board System’ (BBS), wait for the ‘free’ tone on the other side and plunge the handset onto the coupler and watch in amazement on your computer screen how a connection would between the two machines would be established and the welcome screen of your favourite BBS would appear. Something like this:

Of course my mate Sven had to have one of those, and a few years later I was able to get one as well, and I finally added myself to the, er, cool kids (ok, young men without a girlfriend) that would meet online and in real life. The Tuborg Box Cologne was my favourite hangout, and there are many legends around these user meets that I will not repeat.

Anyway, a chap who happens to hang around one of my favourite websites made a 5 hour documentary about BBSs, their inventors and their users. Absolutely brilliant stuff if you can tolerate a few rather awkward individuals sprinkled into the mix, but the stories are fascinating, the personalities enormous and the geek factor 11 out of ten.

Have a look at the trailer and go buy the thing.

Have fun.

Comedy at the Union Chapel

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Yesterday the best girlfriend ever and myself entered our minuscule all terrain vehicle and dared flooded roads, badger attacks and overprotective pheasants to drive to the English equivalent of Ankh-Morpork. There her eminence had secured us two tickets to see three comedians and my high priest of musical comedy, the ever so brilliant Bill Bailey in -of all places- a church. Not any church, though. A rather impressive example of victorian gothic architecture in Islington, the Union Chapel is as impressive as it gets. They even ask you whether you want your Hobgoblin at room temperature or cold. Bloody brilliant! Before we finally got to see Bailey, we sat through 2 hours of ‘stand up’ (which in my vocabulary unfortunately still stands for some bloke on a stage trying to get through as many four letter words as possible) and was pleasantly surprised.

It didn’t start well, though, as the MC of the evening was the rather  execrable Charlie Baker, who obviously believes that the word ‘knockers’ is still funny. Before the gig the best girlfriend ever mused that if this is going down in a consecrated church, they are probably unlikely to be allowed to swear. Boy was she wrong.  Rufus Hound who was obviously out on stage to deliberately shock a lefty liberal audience waiting for Bailey to appear. I do think he almost got there. Always in the verge of being misogynistic, he nevertheless managed to convey the tragic aspects of male masturbation, the idiocy of ritual circumcision and the importance of oral sex in the world in such disarmingly honest tones that even the best girlfriend ever was delighted.

I am though not sure why the mother of the two ca 10 year old girls thought it would be a good idea to bring her daughters to the gig. I am sure there will be trauma. And questions (‘Mummy? What is cocksucking? Does it involve poultry?’).

Pat Cahill was even better: his songs about tumour ridden Jack Russels (‘this dog is not in any visible pain. I’ve sang it eight times and I’ll sing it again’) and routine about booze combinations were outstanding. Have a look:

[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTO5XdMBpOw%5D

What Bridget Christie was doing on stage I have no idea. Lost and forlorn, she was neither funny nor witty and the poor women knew it.

Bill Bailey? Well, he is obviously getting more angry with politicians these days (deservedly so), doesn’t particularly like Nick Clegg and fails to see the point of Danish tv. And continues to invite the most sophisticated hecklers (“PLAY AN ALTERED SCALE!!”).

Brillant night. If somebody wound have warned me about Bridget Christie in advance I might have been able to get another Hobgoblin, but you can’t have anything in life.